Video; un: rtozier

[summertimeblues]

[The feed begins with a man in his late thirties, one hand welded to his forehead in consternation. Adjacent is a swanky looking turntable, and stacks of records can be seen on a table behind the sofa. The titles are indiscernible but it looks to be a ballpark of about fifty albums.

He stares into the camera, desolate.]

All right kids, I'll concede: my folks would have cracked my radio if they heard how much I let The Doors holler out of it. I know it's a pattern and every generation thinks the one after it is a tasteless pack of miscreants. And I've been keeping an open mind. I can't afford not to. Music was my job, and for the most part the stuff hitting the airwaves had been pretty solid. Whoever's been picking out tunes for me up above has been doing pretty damn swell so far, too. Soundgarden was great, Lauren Hill, the Alabama Shakes — there's a lot of good shit I've missed out on because my apocalypse hit so early.

[He takes a deep breath.]

But today, I need an explanation.

[He takes a record out of a sleeve. Sets it on the player and closes his eyes in bitter resignation as the thing gets rolling.

His jaw clenches tight as the music starts.

"Hiya Barbie!"
"Hi Ken!"
"Do you wanna go for a ride?"
"Sure Ken!"
"Jump in!"
"I'M A BARBIE GIRL! IN A BARBIE WO-O-ORLD! LIFE IN PLASTIC, IT'S FANTASTIC!!"

A comely but irate redheaded woman stomps into the background.]

If you don’t shut that off, there’s going to be cats clawing at our window to check out who’s dying!

[Richie rips the record off, vein pulsing in his forehead.]

Music is dying, Bev! It's over! We've lost the war!

[She scoffs, disappearing once more. Richie looks to the camera.

He snaps the record in two with a malicious crack and tosses the pieces behind him.]

I don't know who allowed this to happen, but you ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

[The video cuts out. Please deposit your apologies and condolences below.]

Comments

[doomedtheworld]

[She frowns a little bit. She really didn't think it was that bad.]

Exactly what I said. [She'd heard music played at the balls she'd infiltrated or some minstrel playing on the street but it had all been background noise.] There wasn't much music to hear.

[summertimeblues]

[There's a thoughtful pause. Then more curiously:]

Is this your first time with phones and electricity too?

[doomedtheworld]

Yes.

[She's been down this road a few times since she first woke up.]

Space stations too.

[summertimeblues]

Figures. You're not alone in that department, so don't feel too out of sorts. It's my first space station too. Not to be picky but they haven't sold me on the concept yet.

[doomedtheworld]

The phones seem much more useful.

But it is strange to me that everybody has this thing that lets them talk to anybody, anytime no matter where they are and so many people do it by writing very short letter back and forth.

[summertimeblues]

It is a bit creepy, isn't it? This is beyond what was happening back in my home. We had phones to call and speak proper with, not just shoot off little messages. It makes me feel like there's always someone watching. Like it sucks the power out of speaking face to face.

[She hasn't asked for it, but since he can't bear to leave this girl with the impression that that nasally syrup was the be-all-end-all of modern music, he's fetching a new record to put on. One of the newer ones, dropped into his lap from thirty years into the future.

"My life, your life
Don't cross them lines
What you like, what I like
Why can't we both be right?"]

[doomedtheworld]

It just seems so much harder and longer to do when you can just talk to whoever you want. I don't understand the point of it.

[Oh, but he's putting something new on it seems. She stops her conversation and sits in silence to listen to this new one. At some point during it she finds her foot tapping along and when it's over.]

I liked that one too.

[summertimeblues]

Half of it might be the novelty, speaking frankly. Everyone is too busy popping boners over what technology can do, rather than what it should.

[She's more reserved than a lot of the young girls he met here, at least from the sounds of it. Judging from the tone he can't picture her being more than seven-or-eighteen, tops. Yet, like the rest of them, she's endearing all the same. Perhaps because of the reticence, rather than in spite of it.

His smile likely reads through the voice alone.]

It's one of my favorites out of the new stuff, for certain. They're called the Alabama Shakes.

[doomedtheworld]

Well, I'm not popping any boners having to write down my conversations.

[She says it perfectly deadpan too. Vin does not know what "boner" means and sometimes trying to roll with slang is a minefield.]

How much do you have?

[summertimeblues]

[Richie laughs, half a bark of surprise.] Well I should hope not!

[Did she know what it meant? It's a fifty-fifty toss up, and if she doesn't it'd be funnier to let her figure it out later. Good luck kid.]

Well now that I've snapped Miss Barbie Girl, I'm down to forty-nine. There's about eight tracks a record, give or take. Not nearly enough to make a living like I used to, but it's better than sitting in silence eternal.

[doomedtheworld]

[She jumps a bit at the sudden laugh and frowns on her side. Had she said something funny...? She'll have to look into it.]

You used to play this music for people for a living? Like some kind of minstrel?

[summertimeblues]

[Was that the most apt comparison...]

Aaah, sure, why not. Just don't go expecting me to bust out a hot jam on the lyre any time soon. Other people made the music, it got recorded down on big black discs, and I put them on a miracle machine and pump out the music for the masses. If they needed any pep in their step to carry on with the day, they'd turn on the radio, and whatever I'd picked to play would come singing out at them.